


family traditions

by forpeaches (bluecarrot)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Games, Gore, Murder, Murder Games, No Incest, Violence, and everyone comes out for a bow at the end, not heavy about it but it happens, the blood is definitely ketchup
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26867404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/pseuds/forpeaches
Summary: newlyweds take part in an old family tradition ... ofmurder. bwahah!(a story that is not nearly as dark as it sounds.)*based loosely on the filmReady or Not, meaning that i stole the premise and immediately disregarded the rest. you can definitely read this without knowing the film. and if you HAVE seen the film, you can still read this and have some measure of suspense, because most of the story is different. i mean, ... unless if you saw it and hated everyhing, then maybe just move on?
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 25
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [holograms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/gifts).



> feel free to hum a little Hank Jr as you read. 
> 
> "Lord I have loved some ladies  
> and I have loved Jim Beam  
> and they both tried to kill me in 1973 ..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written over an excrutiatingly long period of time, like apparently i started it in July 2020? yikes

Jaime sat in the back of the limo, looking uncomfortable. “About my family."

“Hmm?” He was so pretty. Brienne couldn't stop staring at him, this beautiful man she married. It still seemed on the brink of impossible that he would speak to her, much less want anything more.

“They’re a little ... they can be a little bit ...”

“I’m sure it will be fine.”

“You don’t understand. My father is ... and then my sister can be ... even my brother —“

Oh. “You think they won’t like me.”

Fiddling with the sapphire cufflink at his left wrist. “I _know_ they won’t like you. They don’t like anyone. That isn’t what I’m afraid of.”

She leaned back to look at him. “Will they disinherit you?”

Instead of meeting her eye, he turned to stare out the window.

He couldn't be seeing much; it was raining and grey between the streetlamps. Not the most beautiful day for a wedding. “Does that worry you?”

“I would have married you if we had to eat cheese and garlic and live in a windmill."

Jaime laughed a little. “We might live to test that theory.”

*

Brienne had had her head down, checking her pulse against the second hand of her watch, when Jaime approached her for the first time.

"Excuse me," he'd said, and for a second all she could think was _What did I do wrong?_ Left her water-bottle on the treadmill? Forgot to wipe down the bench after she used the press? Something shameful, something breaking the unwritten rules of gym rat etiquette...

But he went on. "I'm sure you're busy, I don't mean to intrude --"

"It's fine." She felt herself stiffen, waiting for the axe to fall. Men who looked like him didn't come up and start a conversation with her -- not about anything except why it was _obviously_ their turn on the machine, _she_ wasn't really using it _anyway,_ not _properly_ ...

He said: "I came here with a friend, and he had to leave unexpectedly. So now I'm without a spotter." And he smiled at her: one side of his mouth up, wry and rueful. "Would you mind helping me out?"

Brienne, slightly dazed, accepted.

And she accepted when he offered to buy her lunch.

And she accepted his phone number at the end of the meal.

And two weeks later, when he asked if she wanted to come upstairs awhile, she said _Yes._

*

The Lannisters were not impressed by Brienne. She hadn't really expected them to be, based on what Jaime said, but ... well. Tywin looked grim, Cersei rolled her eyes; even Tyrion swallowed down a laugh. And he was supposed to be the good one. The best one.

And Jaime wasn’t kidding when he said they had money. She found herself gawking a little bit at the paintings, the friezes, the dark woodwork -- and had to stop herself. She'd promised him she would be _over it_. Disinterested. Of course her husband was equally resplendent in his tux and tails, seeming to match the high vaulted ceilings and the leaded-glass windows. That was no surprise. But as the supper was cleared away by a series of silent servants, he chewed his lip, drinking too much wine, too fast.

And now Cersei was leaning forward on the table, smiling. “Dear Brianna. What a pleasure it is to finally get to know you after all this time.”

“Her name is Brienne,” said Tyrion. “You could at least give her that much respect."

"Get fucked, Tyrion," said Cersei. Her tone hadn't changed, her expression hadn't shifted. Blase.

Something that felt like doubt pinched at Brienne, a tight feeling between her ribs. _What sort of family had she married into?_ Jaime said his family was difficult, he'd warned her they don't really get along, he said they'll only need to meet up for holidays and important events, but she had expected ... cold civility, at least. And these people looked about ready to murder each other.

"You are not what I expected," said Tywin, "from Jaime's description."

Surely he wasn't calling her ugly right out, like this? Surely Jaime didn't gloss over the truth of her looks -- her height, her teeth, her nose, --

And so what if she _was_ ugly? She lifted her chin and kept her voice perfectly steady, with an effort. "That's funny; he was perfectly accurate when you spoke of you."

Tyrion laughed, soft.

Cersei swirled the wine in her glass. Gods knew how much it cost, but she hadn't even sipped it. "Are you a female bodybuilder? Or some sort of competitive wrestler, perhaps?"

"I ..."

Jaime frowned. "This sort of thing is entirely inappropriate."

"I think it's reasonable to expect we know a little bit about our new family member. Especially because you've kept her out of sight all through your courtship. That wasn't very generous of you, brother."

"You know what I mean. These questions are -- you need to stop. It's unfair, for one. And anyway it won't make any difference. Brienne isn't _like_ us. She doesn't understand."

What was he doing -- defending her? Calling her helpless? Weak? Her temper had been on-edge all through that awful supper, and now it flared up hot and bright. "I think I can hold my own."

Tyrion was thoughtful. "Know anything about firearms?"

"My father taught me to hunt when I was a girl. I never liked it."

And Tywin laughed.

Brienne shook her head. "I don't understand. Why is that funny?"

Cersei settled back in her chair and covered her mouth with one hand, as if she were hiding a smile. It was also an excellent opportunity to show off her nails, expertly manicured in a deeper and richer color than the wine. "My husband died in a hunting accident, just after our wedding."

Brienne flinched. Gods, of all the things -- "I'm so sorry. I didn't know. Of course I never would have ... I wouldn't ever ... I'm so terribly sorry for your loss."

No one answered.

The moment dragged on and on and on.

At last Tywin said: "Would anyone like to play a game? I know just the thing."


	2. Chapter 2

"The first thing,” said Tywin, “is for you to take a card.”

“Me?” She tried to smile and had the feeling it fell rather flat. “Am I the only one playing?”

“You are the newest member of the family and therefore the guest of honor, Miss Tarth — that is, Brienne. The rest of us will follow your lead.”

Well, thank goodness she wasn’t going to be the center of attention or singled out in any embarrassing sort of way. No wonder Jaime had begged her to elope. She stood up, smoothing down the front of her dress, and went to the head of the long table, to where Tywin sat. He was cradling a little wooden box against his body — a strangely protective measure — and he did not relax his posture as she stood next to him.

“You understand that I’ll need to touch the cards to take one,” she said.

He stared at her. “You are not at all the sort of girl I expected my son to marry.”

“None of us expected this,” said Cersei.

“Including Jaime,” said Tyrion. He tittered, and drank down another glass of wine. “I do so love these little get-togethers. Could we do this every year, do you think? Maybe even once a quarter?”

“You know the rules perfectly well,” Tywin told his son, and slid the box over the table towards Brienne. “Be careful, young woman. This is a family heirloom —"

“Yes, what a wretched shame if it were lost.”

“—And I will remind you that you are only to take the one card on top.”

Jaime said, through his teeth, “She understands how to play games, Father.”

“Does she? We shall see. Open the box and take a card, Brienne.”

So she did.

— And looked from the illustration to the blank, tense faces around the room. “This is a joke, right? You’re taking the — you’re teasing me. This isn’t what we’re playing.”

“What does it say?”

“Yes, Brienne. Do enlighten us. Whatever could it say.”

Cersei made a face. “You should keep your mouth shut, dwarf, and thank your stars that you fit into small, hard-to-reach spaces.”

“Oh, I am grateful for that. It’s the one grace given me. But what good-fairy wishes were given you, sweet sister?”

“I’m going to throw you off the widow’s walk and enjoy watching your twisted little body hit the ground.”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “Can't you two spend a few minutes _internalizing_ all that hatred? Brienne — you don't have to do this."

“It’s only a game,” said Tyrion. He was smiling.

Twyin stood up then, and approached her, apparently meaning his height and breadth to intimidate — but she had several inches on him and, she’d bet, about a hundred pounds of bench-press ability. She held the card flat against her body. “Nobody is seeing this until someone tells me what the —" She remembered where she was, and with whom, and edited slightly — “what the hell is going on.”

Jaime was drumming his fingers against the table; looked uncomfortable. “It’s a tradition, when someone marries into the family. The cards have different children’s games on them —"

“Like Tig.”

“Tiddlywinks.”

“Simon Says.”

“Old Maid,” said Cersei. “That’s my favorite, really. I love a good dose of irony.”

“— and then we all play.”

She searched his face for some sign of deception. “Then why are you so tense?”

“I —“ He rubbed his hand over his chin. “Trust me, please. I’ve never lied to you, have I?”

How would she know if he had? And clearly there were some salient details he'd neglected to explain. But: fine. She held out the card, away from her body, so they could all see it easily.

The illustration was of a young bride who had tucked herself into a large steamer-trunk, still wearing the white dress and veil of her life's happiest moment. Her pale fingers curled around the lid and her eyes stared out into the darkness. Below her was written _Hide And Seek_.

Several things happened at once.

Jaime swore loudly — Tywin let out a sigh — and Tyrion said, looking at his brother, “What a remarkable coincidence. I do think someone might have taken a moment to shuffle better, considering--"

“Shut up,” said Cersei, taut. “This isn’t the time for your edgelord nonsense. Jaime, ... don’t look like that.”

Brienne shook her head. “What does that mean?”

Jaime sat down, avoiding her eyes. Apparently he was finished swearing but was not yet prepared to do anything useful.

Brienne briefly considered climbing over the table and strangling him.

“It means I’m going to change my shoes,” said Cersei. “And possibly my dress — it’s shantung silk.” She looked regretfully at her untouched wine. “This wine has a beautiful nose. It had better still be here when I get back.”

“Assuming you’ll get a chance to drink it? You do think highly of yourself,” said Tyrion.

“Don’t you have a dumbwaiter to hide in?”

Tyrion — not rising to the bait — got down from his chair and briefly touched Jaime on the back. “Be careful,” he said. “You’re not the only one who has someone to lose” — and he left.

Cersei, rising, blew a kiss to her brother. “Good night, everyone. I’m off to find my trainers.” And she was gone too.

\-- That was enough. More than enough. It had been _enough_ fifteen minutes before. Brienne said, quite loudly — and the room had marvelous acoustics — “Will someone please explain what the _fuck_ is going on?”

“It means that we play the game,” said Tywin, briefly. He took the card from her and replaced it in the box, securely shutting the lid. “The game will go on until one of us wins. That is the rule. That is how it is played.”

“No,” said Jaime. “That’s _not_ the only rule. If we make it to sunrise —"

 _“If_ we make it?”

“Sunrise means it’s called off.”

Tywin leveled a glare at his son. “You will play by the rules, Jaime. And you will win.” He strode out, taing the box with him.

Brienne sat down across from her husband. "I'm going to need you to explain quickly, and thoroughly. Because I'm not very happy with you right now."

He took a deep breath. "We really are playing a game of hide-and-seek. The difference is that when you find someone, you kill them."

**Author's Note:**

> for holograms, who yelled at me every single time i tried to delete this. and there were a lot of times.  
> she was right, as usual. but anyway don't tell me what to do UR NOT MY MOM


End file.
